


and i'm afraid i told a lie

by ennaih (aquandrian)



Series: Death Trooper AU [4]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Death Trooper AU, Dom/sub, F/M, Face-Sitting, Humiliation kink, Pegging, Rimming, Shameless Smut, Smut, domme!Jyn, i didn't, just humiliating talk nothing worse, sub!Krennic, who knew Krennic was like this?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 10:53:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7358347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquandrian/pseuds/ennaih
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“So when do I get to bend you over a desk and fuck you sore?”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>He laughs.</i>
</p><p> The epic sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/7337902"><i>and anyway i told the truth</i></a> no one asked for.</p><p>Also known as the sub!Krennic fic no one asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and i'm afraid i told a lie

**Author's Note:**

> Because about two hours after I posted that, I realised what conversation it should have ended on and so this had to happen. It got a little more political than I expected, oof. Why does this fandom make me write stuff I have never attempted before?
> 
> Title from _The Mercy Seat_ by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. Oh I got plenty moar.

“So when do I get to bend you over a desk and fuck you sore?” 

He starts to laugh but it fades as his eyes glint and he holds her gaze. “Well,” he says evenly, leaning close to her, “you’ll just have to pick your moment, won’t you?” His mouth is a breath from her, she sways towards him, lips parted, but he grins and leaves. 

Jyn doesn’t mind that so much, not with the idea simmering lovely and delicious in the back of her mind that night as they nestle together in bed and over the next few weeks. They make lazy love before alpha shift begins, spar in their training sessions, bicker over meals, and generally go on with the daily routine of running an Imperial Army pretending it’s not about to explode the galaxy and several systems into chaos. 

She dons the Death Trooper armour and accompanies him to the security council meetings, watches as he moves people’s minds around, moving them to his own ends. He always knows exactly what he wants, and figures out in the moment or before just how to get people to think it was their idea. It’s no magic trick, it’s why he is the Director. She stands behind him, a silent menace in case someone manages to forget how dangerous he is, in case someone’s foolish enough to try their luck. The new senators and officers eye her warily when they first come into the council rooms but once he starts to speak, they see nobody but him. That quality of charisma always makes her smile a little in her helmet, idiotically proud that he is hers and she is his and no one in the room knows it.

Then one of the political negotiations goes horribly wrong. A strategic planet colonised by a relatively peaceful species erupts in civil war, slaughters half its inhabitants, and some human feudal lord declares himself psychopomp, whatever the hell that is. She’s standing behind the Director when he receives the official transmission. The psychopomp no longer cared to ally his nation planet with the Empire since he doubted the purity of their souls. They could therefore prove themselves worthy or he would declare himself an enemy of the Empire.

There’s a deathly silence when the transmission ends, all eyes on the Director who sits very still with the kind of tension that Jyn recognises with a slight delighted terror. “Very well,” Krennic says eventually, so much the coolly elegant Coruscanti aristocrat he pretends. “We will have to consider our response. Five hours. Back here. Thank you.”

He only ever says thank you when he’s distracted with wanting to blow a planet up. She knows that and several of the senior generals know it too. The others file out and he stands, turns to her with an absent expression. He never speaks to her when she’s doing the Death Trooper routine but that’s all right. They don’t speak until the door slides shut on their private quarters.

Krennic goes in before her and backhands an Old Republic vase thing off a small table. It smashes against the durasteel wall, very expensive splinters flying. Unfazed, Jyn takes her time taking off the helmet. He’s pacing the length of the living area, completely unaware he’s doing it because he’s thinking so hard, incandescent with rage, all the silver bright cogs of his mind slicing and whirring through the possibilities. She can see it clearly, it’s always mildly entertaining, watching his body propel itself through these unconscious rituals when his mind is so thoroughly consumed. The cape is unhooked, flung over a chair. He’s hardly aware of her, turning on his heel, bright keen eyes flashing unseeing across the walls. Jyn goes to get out of the armour, figuring she may as well take advantage of this quiet time.

When she comes back out, barefoot and stripped to singlet and leggings, he’s just crushed a sheaf of flimsies in his hand, practically spitting with fury. Jyn throws herself onto one of the couches and says, “What’s a psychopomp?”

“What?” he snaps, irritated out of his thoughts.

“A psychopomp. What is it?”

He glares at her for a very long moment, taking that long to come back out of the fierce glittering recesses of his mind, that long to recognise and focus on her. And even then he looks absently at the thing in her lap and takes a while to say, “Now, is it? This is your moment?”

She grins, stretching her arms up and then locking them behind her head. “Thought you might like a distraction.”

He snorts, tossing the reports aside. “It’s fucking bullshit is what it is.” He doesn’t mean her. This is the tirade bit, where all the thoughts spill out into words, where the Coruscanti accent is nowhere to be heard and he’s all piss and vinegar, snarling about the stupidity of backwater planets and small-minded outpost fuckwits who think they can reorganise an entire political system with one stupid ill-timed coup. He paces and rants, undoing the jacket and belt, his hair raked up, eyes flashing rage. Oh he’s beautiful like this, it makes her so happy to see him all ragey and genocidal. And she’s totally not listening to the actual rant, much more entertained by the way the clear light of their quarters gleams the contour of his cheekbone, by the way his mouth skews and snarls over the words.

He rants all the way through taking his clothes off and she watches with unabashed glee. Boots and trousers and underclothes cast haphazard on the Old Republic carpets because Orson Krennic is much much more unhinged than the Director of the Imperial Army. 

“I should just blow that pathetic little rock up and move the fuck onto the next system, where are we doing this!” He glowers down at her, refusing to be moved by the laughter in her expression.

“Where do you want to be fucked?” she counters cheerfully. 

He actually rolls his eyes, rearing back with a scoff, and heads into their bedroom, so much chaotic energy coming off him like shards of glass. Jyn follows, her humour receding as she understands just what this is going to be like, what he needs from her.

Naked, he is slender and somehow that much taller than he seems out there. Surely it should be the other way around, surely he should be bigger and more imposing in public. But no, here in the silver light of their room, stripped of the uniform, he is those few inches taller than her, not in the least self-conscious as he looks at the bed and then clambers onto it. She stares at his skin, amazed all over again that he’s freckled so thoroughly he’s like a beautiful patterned and so breakable thing.

“I can’t believe this,” he mutters, pushing a hand back through his hair. “Unfuckingbelievable. This throws everything -- do you realise what this means? How we have to reorganise and recalculate everything? What this means for the logistics -- that fucking thing isn’t even at --”

“Shut up.”

He’s so startled he actually does. And then blinks and refocuses on her buckling the harness around her clothed hips. The strap-on isn’t actually as lewd as she thought it’d be. It fits in with her whole outfit -- sleek black singlet, sleek black leggings, and this sleek black cock, totally unnatural and gleaming just a little.

“Shouldn’t you --” he gestures at her, his voice slightly hoarse now “-- shouldn’t you take those clothes off?”

“Nope.” She pulls the strap secure, impressed at the easy weight.

“I want --”

“I don’t care what you want,” she says and he goes silent, the grey blue eyes widening a little. She keeps their gazes locked as she climbs onto the bed, climbs up his bare pale body radiating heat. His throat is working, that chaos of energy all jittery and nervous now. “Come on,” he mutters and puts a hand up to her hair. Jyn darts her head aside and knocks his hand away. Somehow that shocks him, the lean expressive face flickers. Somehow it makes him go weak, a sort of fey yield in the slope of his throat and his shoulders pressing back into the pillows. She doesn’t understand it at first, not until she puts her hand to the dip of his collarbone and presses down. The Director of the Imperial Army sighs and goes utterly pliant under her hand, all the fight and fury of him in abeyance. “Oh,” Jyn says softly. “Oh, is that it?”

His lashes sweep down over his eyes, so weirdly feminine she falls in love with him all over again. And she has to, she leans down and licks the curve of his cheekbone all smooth and freckled, licks down the bold straight line of his nose, down to the sweet slim curve of his mouth. He makes a small noise in his throat, eyes shut and frowning a little as he automatically tries to kiss her. But no. 

Jyn moves back to look at him all laid out there naked for her, the beautiful shape of his shoulders, his skin blushing a little down his smooth chest. He has such absurdly wanton nipples. She’s thought that for a while now, how they’re so responsive to cold or any damned breeze, erect at the slightest stimulation. They’re erect now, pale pink and ridiculously pointed. “You’re such a slut,” she murmurs a breath above his heart. A shudder goes through him, that energy thrumming low. She clicks her tongue in disapproval and then licks his right nipple, seizing it between her teeth when he groans and arches up into her. Bites down sharp so that groan becomes a cry, such a delicious lovely sound she’s going to treasure.

He keeps trying to catch hold of her, she knows it’s unthinking but she still knocks his hands away every time and slides down his body, down to where his cock is semi-hard and beginning to curve upwards to his stomach. Nope, don’t care. She ignores his cock completely and instead licks a stripe down the inside of his thigh. So what if that means her hair slides against the side of his cock? He groans and reaches for her again. This time she catches his hand roughly, pushing up to fix him with a look. “Do I need to restrain you?”

He says nothing but that look, that look is everything. Mouth parted, deep beautiful eyes eloquent with want, his chest rising and falling shallow. Jyn hides her smile and gets off the bed to find the binders. 

When they’re on, she sits back on her heels to look at this new picture he makes. The Director of the Imperial Army naked and pale against the dark grey sheets, with his arms stretched above his head, wrist binders magnetised together, all his vulnerable skin and uncurling cock on display. She touches a fingertip to where a trail of fine hair begins under his navel and watches as the skin trembles under her tracing it down to where his cock rises to meet her palm. “Nuh uh,” she says softly and his groan is anguished now, guttural as he tips up his chin and pushes back into the bed, pushing his hips up towards her evading hand.

“You’re so fucking needy,” she says, moving up his body. “Look at you, no discipline, no intellect, no shame. Why aren’t you ashamed of how much you want this?” His eyes are laughing up at her, so much joy gleaming through the desire. She takes hold of his chin, loving the shape of it, how it fits into the curve of her palm. “Such a desperate little slut,” she murmurs, her lips nearly touching his. “There’s so much you want and you can’t get any of it. Can you?” This time he bites back the moan, closing his eyes and turning his face into her touch, the need vibrating off his skin. Jyn passes her hand down his throat, a long slow stroke that has him sighing and pressing against her, down to the flushed flat contours of his chest. “You’re all mine. No one else gets to see you like this, no one else knows what you’re like, you’re really like. What do you want?” she challenges, keeping her tone dulcet. “Can you tell me?”

His eyes still shut, he opens his mouth and she gives him her palm to press his lips against. They’ve never done this before, it’s a whole new series of discoveries, following her instincts to realise just how much she does know of him, how much she can sense of his desires. He won’t say it, any of it, a new sort of game they’re negotiating step by step. And maybe she’ll fuck it up but maybe, just maybe he’ll love it anyway. “Shhh,” she tells him and rolls him onto his side, stroking the revealed shape of his flank, the lovely way his torso dips to his waist and the smooth straight line of his hip. His skin so warm and touchable, and so she tastes, feeling him press back against her, against the inorganic curve of her cock. She moves so her breasts slide against his shoulderblades, her nipples pebbling through the tight fabric. “I’ll take care of you. Don’t I always? Don’t you trust me?”

He bends his head and sighs so deep, so fucking beautiful because it comes out of a male throat, ragged and so needy. Because they both know he can’t trust anybody ever. For a moment she wants to comfort him but no, that’s not the idea here. She turns him onto his stomach, digs her knuckles into his lower back when she sees him press his cock into the mattress. “No, you fucking don’t,” she bites out. “You don’t get to do that.” A little angry, she rakes her short nails along his hip, making him shudder. He’s so incredibly sensitised now, like the magnetism of the binders has slid all the way down over him, vibrating all the atoms of his body to her every touch. 

Good.

Jyn drags her nails across the round curve of his arse, digging into flesh when he growls deep in his throat and pushes back into her hand. “Yeah, you want this, don’t you?” She licks the spot at the base of his spine. “You filthy little pervert. Filthy, filthy …” she murmurs, licking lower. When she spreads his arse and drags her nail down his revealed little hole, he takes a huge gasp and bites at the rumpled sheets. 

Is he ever this reactive when they have their not so vanilla sex? Not quite like this. Then she’s the one who gives him all the moans and sighs, all the vocal aural pleasure.

Now he does it for her, unashamed and loud and yielding it all up. Oh he does love it, gasping soft and high as she touches her tongue to his most secret place, her wet tongue and his tender skin. She licks him long and slow, taking her time, making him suffer, making him grind against the mattress. She lets that happen now. The taste of him is somehow steel and clean and flesh, a heat unlike the heat of his mouth, smooth unlike the smooth of cockskin. She cups the weight of his balls as she licks him open, pushes her tongue in because he’s hers to have, hers to invade. His moans get deeper as she get deeper, as his hole gets redder and wetter. Trapped between her body and the bed, he’s thrusting into the sheets over and over again, fucking himself on her tongue, and she knows him well enough to know to let him keep going, keep thrusting, keep fucking --

“Stop.”

He chokes off, every muscle caught. Jyn rises to her knees behind him, grinning at this perfect Imperial self-control even though he’s shaking just a little bit under his skin. 

“Good boy,” she croons, sliding up against his warm back. A hand on her shoulder, she makes him come back up off the bed towards her, the binders pulling his arms down before him, still captive. She reaches around to take his chin and turns his face to hers, wanting to see. He looks all fucked out already, sultry beautiful eyes and sullen reddened mouth, colour high under his freckles. “You’re such a good boy,” she says tenderly and kisses him, letting him taste himself on her lips, on her tongue. He sways and practically melts against her, his mouth soft and so very hungry, wanting so much of everything she gives. Between them, her cock slides and catches on his skin of his back, and she’s reminded how much she wants that too, an image to print on her memory.

“Are you going to let me fuck you now?” They both know he has no choice about it. He breathes her in, pressing their foreheads together. This close, she can see the gleam of blue through his lashes. “I won’t go gentle. You know that.” A shuddering sigh, and she suddenly wants to hear his voice. “Tell me you know that. Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

It’s hard for him to speak, to summon his words. She watches his throat work, watches him lick his lips, lick the taste of him off them. He won’t meet her eyes but he breathes in and says in a raw voice just for her, “Yeah. Yeah, I want you to.”

“What?”

His lashes flick up, catching her breath with clear arresting blue grey. “Fuck me hard. Fuck me any way you want.”

She smiles at him, wild and brilliant, and shoves him down hard, without warning, following with her lithe strong body. The binders trapped between them, he can’t touch her, can’t do anything but moan and buck up as she swarms over him, reaching for the bedside stand. As she pulls out the drawer, he finds and captures her breast with his mouth, sucking at her nipple through the singlet. Jyn doesn’t protest, flipping open the tube of slick with one hand, but she does get her other hand into his hair and pulls hard. He gasps and lets go, eyes shocky blue. “Bad,” she tells him. “You’re going to hurt for that.”

He grins at her, feral and happy, and she smirks in response, easing back to let him see. He sighs when she slicks her wet hand over her cock, next to his own curved red and hard. She briefly considers undoing the binders so he can touch himself, lube each other up. But when she sneaks a glance at his expression, he’s all focused on her cock, his face reddening, breath ragged. He wants this so damned much, like nothing else exists outside of this room, no council, no army, no galaxy to be conquered and exploded. Right now she is all he wants, she is all he sees. It’s intoxicating.

With her free hand, she cups his jaw, making him look at her. “You’re going to lube yourself up. Make yourself ready for me. For this.” His eyes flick down to her glistening cock, and his mouth shakes a little before he turns away, so swift it catches her unawares. She had forgotten the binders, it’s true, but they’re falling away without her doing anything, and she wants to laugh. That bastard, her bastard, always three steps ahead of her and everyone else. The binders and their key clatter to the floor beside their bed, already irrelevant. 

He lies back on the bed in front of her, shameless and exhibitionist, a certain fey curve to him rather than the straight director line. And she watches as he spread his pale legs, lifts his red hard cock out of the way, and touches himself. He watches her watching him slather the lube down below his balls, watches as he hunches his shoulders and pushes lower on the bed, drawing up his legs, so exposed and so willingly open to her regard. She catches one ankle, holds him fast, the corner of her mouth curving as he uses his slicked fingers to open himself up for her. There’s a question in his expression, in his brightening eager eyes. “That’s it,” she says. “Go on. You know what to do.”

He gasps happily in response, so pretty like this, his silver brown hair swerved boyish across his forehead. “My turn,” she says and leans down to kiss his mouth. It’s a deep drugging kiss, stealing his air, making him arch up into her as she presses the head of her cock into him. She doesn’t stop, even when he groans rough, clutching her upper arm like she did the first time he fucked her. He doesn’t know that’s what he’s doing but she remembers, all the different little way they mirror each other as she pushes slow and relentless into him, seeing the moment it starts to get good for him. He tips his chin up, exposing his throat. His chest somehow opens up, nipples pink and biteable, his shoulders widening and pressing flat against the mattress. “Yeah?” she murmurs despite herself. “That feels good now?” And watches him breathe steadily, licking his lips before he meets her eyes and says low: “Faster. I want it faster now.”

He ought to know better by now. Jyn will never do what he wants the moment he wants it the way he wants it. So she pulls out sharply, loving the way he winces, and before he can recover, pushes right back in and starts to fuck him exactly the way she promised herself she would. He gives a rough harsh cry, shocked and a little brutalised. But she won’t stop and he doesn’t stop her either. It feels so good, in her lower back, in her shoulders, even hot and wild in her chest, to be able to hold him down with a hand in the centre of his chest and fuck into his yielding and still weirdly resistant male body, even as he clutches at her, clutches at the sheets. She crowds him, pushes his legs out of the way, and only now grabs his cock, unforgiving hand and unforgiving rhythm as he gasps and gasps, those catchy ragged moans of rhythm and rhythm. Those sounds make her delirious, make her fuck him harder and deeper, squeezing the red heat of his cock as it leaks and leaks over her fingers. She drags her fist up his shaft, swiping over the head, and leans forward to smear her palm over his open mouth. His hand snaps around her wrist, blue eyes focusing hard on her, but his tongue’s already in the hollow of her hand, greedy, so very voracious, and it’s not enough for her.

She pulls her hand away and straightens up to pull her singlet over her head. Her breasts are not large, certainly not voluptuous, but they’re enough to madden him in this state. He lunges forward, groaning as that means he fucks himself hard on her cock, and she grabs the back of his neck, moaning herself at the delicious wet of his mouth on her bare tight nipple. He holds her strong, maybe her cock is slipping out of him but neither mind. His hair warm and messy in her fingers, she arches into his tugging eager mouth, into the kisses he presses to her sternum. He chants her name into her skin, his hands sliding up the smooth hot contour of her naked back. 

One wordless look, and they pull away, enough so that he lies down, his legs over hers, and she slides easily now back into him. He has his hands on her clothed thighs, fingers digging in as she fucks him hard and fast, chasing that edge, chasing that madness she sees in his face, in the glitter of his eyes like a broken sea. His gaze roams all over her, so hungry, so delirious, seizing on her naked breasts, shuddering on her throat, on her intense watchful face, on the place where her cock goes into him. He’s fucking himself on her, wild and mindless, and then without warning, he’s coming loud and messily, all over himself, coming as if he hasn’t come for months and months which is utterly untrue as she well knows. His body arches up, red mouth open, his skin blushing all the way down his throat to the centre of his chest, his stupid lovely nipples striped with spunk. 

It’s only then she realises how very wet she is, throbbing within the leggings. That’s totally fucking unacceptable. As he collapses against the sheets, she slides out of him, goes to undo the harness, and then thinks better of it.

“I’m not done with you.” 

His lashes lift slowly, almost drunk. She knows she can do anything to him right now and he won’t protest. So she does. “Open,” she says and straddles his face. He chokes on her cock, tears springing to his eyes, but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t care. The thought flickers at the edge of her mind that she’s turning out to be a bloody vicious domme. But he’s not protesting. Rather, he sucks himself off her cock, sliding his hands up her clothed thighs and around to the back of her leggings, pushing her hips forward for his mouth. She wonders about his gag reflex, wonders how many cocks he sucked on his way up the Imperial ranks, wonders if he’ll let her watch sometime. 

When she’s had enough of the sight of his vulnerable lips wrapped around the cock that isn’t hers, she pushes him off and unbuckles the straps. He doesn’t help. Rather, he falls back into the sheets, his eyes slumberous blue on her as she strips off the leggings and returns to him. There’s that heat she loves, the weight of his gaze sliding all over her naked body, down to where she puts a knee on either side of his head, and he’s lifting his face to breathe in the scent of her cunt. Jyn puts her hand into the mess of his grey brown hair, tugging slightly the way they both like it. “Come on, do what you’re good for.” He grins to himself, jolting her heart with tenderness, and slides his hands up the back of her thighs. 

It’s not just a line. He is rather good at eating her out. And this time, she pushes him flat and he lets her, grasping her thighs and doing that feral grin again as she spreads the lips of her cunt open and lowers herself onto his face, onto his clever hungry mouth. Teeth and tongue and sucking on her clit, sucking her wet, so much wet smearing all over his freckled beautiful face. He grips her and angles her better on his mouth, his eyes flicking up when she clutches at her own nipple and clutches at his hair. She comes softly and then comes harder and harder until she’s all sensation and whimpers and arching with fire streaking all through her flesh. 

She falls forward and then off him, rolling onto the bed beside him, exhausted and happy. “Fuck ...”

“Fuck,” he agrees. They clean up with her singlet, toss it to the floor, and lie there for a while, breathing hard as the room and the world slide back around them. His hand is against hers, and after a while, his fingers stroke against hers, tangling together. She sighs soft in her throat. It’s the sign he needs to haul himself up and bury his face against her neck. “So fucking needy,” she mumbles, feeling his body shake a little with laughter. 

They curl up together, all tangled limbs and linked hands, face to face. His lashes scrape against her cheekbone, the smell of him all warm skin and faint sweat and so much sex. He can never stop touching her in the afterglow. Sometimes it’s possessive and firm, long strokes of her thighs, cupping of her breasts, dipping his hand between her thighs where he’s just been, a claiming and reclaiming over and over again. And then sometimes it’s like this, soft and wondering, gentle little touches on her neck and shoulders and belly, like she’s a fine breakable porcelain thing he wants to keep forever. Jyn strokes the back of her hand against the centre of his chest, her mind circling out beyond their little private world. He burrows closer, wanting to be held. Constantly amazed at herself and this newfound capacity to give affection, Jyn wraps her arms around him and lets him lie against her, his breath soft and damp against her neck. She turns her face into his hair, thinking about the council chambers and all those tense faces.

“So do you know what you’re going to do?”

Krennic grunts. After a long silence, he says reluctantly, “The Empire will investigate rituals of purification. I suppose.”

This time it’s Jyn whose body shakes with silent laughter. He tolerates this for a little while, then pulls away and sits up, amused but not quite that much. “It’s not that fucking funny, all right? This is the reality of being in this bloody institution --”

“I know, I know,” she gasps, wiping tears away. “I’m just --”

“What if these moronic rituals involve some sort of sex magic?” he says with sudden malice. “What then? What if I have to fuck a tree or something?”

Jyn goes off into another fit of laughter. He shakes his head and watches her, his eyes gleaming with that familiar tenderness. “You won’t be laughing when I come home with a chafed cock, I’ll tell you that.”

She subsides into giggles, her blood fizzing as she reaches her hand out to touch his bare thigh. “How about this? If you have to fuck a tree, I’ll find some really good costume designer and we’ll really roleplay. They won’t have to know. Or,” she says with sudden inspiration, holding up a finger. “Or we could make a holovid just to prove that you did really fuck a tree, and the tree really enjoyed it too.”

“You’re an awful pervert,” he says with irony or admiration. She shrugs, so modest he leans to kiss her. “I suppose you’re going to say I made you a pervert,” he murmurs against her mouth. 

Jyn snorts quietly and kisses him again. “Don’t flatter yourself. Now what’s a bloody psychopomp?”

When the security council reconvenes a few hours later, the Director is perfectly composed, his posh Coruscanti accent like crystal as he outlines precisely how the Empire proposes to deal with jumped up little backwater feudal lords. Jyn Erso in her Death Trooper armour watches the back of his perfectly combed head, looks at the severe smooth line of the white cape, and thinks about what it must be like to help a soul move from life to afterlife if there is such a thing.

“You’re a little like that, you know,” he had said, his tone strange. “In a way.” She had stared at him, uncertain for a few moments, and then brushed it off because their meal had arrived. Now she wonders.

Does that mean she’s dead? That he’s dead? 

Funny. It’s a pretty good afterlife if it is.

As it turns out, the rituals of purification involve a lot of chanting and smelly oils. There is a deplorable lack of sex magic. 

They make the holovid anyway. There are no tree costumes involved. 

And the Director of the Imperial Army doesn’t say thank you to anyone for at least three weeks.

**Author's Note:**

> [Psychopomp](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Psychopomp): “creatures,spirits, angels, or deities in many religions whose responsibility is to escort newly deceased souls from Earth to the afterlife.” I first came across the word in Neil Gaiman’s _Sandman_ series. And turns out it’s got a wholly different meaning to what I thought but hey, I figured I could make it work.
> 
> This was supposed to a short sharp oneshot and I thought, as per a discussion with charlesdances, that they were both Doms and therefore switches, but then it turned out Krennic is an absolute slut for the submissive. Who knew? So I had to write it out properly. Oh, and the thing about his Coruscanti accent slipping to Outer Rim is totally a headcanon from dachi-chan25.


End file.
